Olfaction
by Writer Unblocked
Summary: A series of one-shots, each one having to do with one of the five senses. Just put up Audition, or Hearing, which is the final sense. And if I may be honest, it's a complete smut story with a tiny little bit of plot thrown in at the end. Heehee.
1. Olfaction

_Author's Note: So after being on MAJOR creep status for about three months, I've finally decided to stop lurking in the shadows of , make my own account, and publish my own fanfiction. This is the first thing I've written since my senior year in high school and the first thing I've let anyone else read EVER. So go easy on me guys, ok? I'm here to hopefully get over my severe case of writer's block and improve my mad crazy skillzzz, and I would surely appreciate your reviews. **Smile**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own it._

You didn't know why you had even gotten into bed. All it was was a waste of your damn time because, lately, your mind couldn't rest. Every time you got into bed, you followed one of two patterns; sometimes, you fell asleep quickly but woke up less than an hour later panting, drenched in sweat, and terrified out of your mind after another nightmare. Other times, your mind was so busy reliving your worst memories that you never fell asleep at all. You weren't sure which fate was worse but, no matter what, you were haunted all night by demons you once thought that you'd defeated, but that your capture by the gravedigger and the mystical appearance of Teddy had brought rushing back.

The demons were memories. They were your very worst Ranger days, your very worst moments as a sniper. The tears of an eight-year-old whose father _you _had killed. Teddy's blood, so much of it, because _you_ had neglected to make sure he stayed down. Being captured, the torture you'd been through, watching as your closest buddies died one after another. They were memories of waking up inside of some sort of steel structure, trapped on board a boat that was set to blow. Memories of how it felt to think that you would never, _never_ again see your son or your partner—your fascinating, _beautiful_ partner to whom you didn't have the guts to admit that, yes, you were madly in love with her and, yes, you knew that she was an alpha female of sorts but that didn't stop you from wanting her more than you'd ever wanted anyone else before.

Memories of all the times you had felt defeated and hopeless. Memories of all the times you had been sure that you were going to die.

Tonight was not very much different from any other night. It had been a long day and you were exhausted, yet here it was three-fifteen in the morning and you hadn't slept a wink all night. You'd gone to bed nearly three hours ago, but all you'd done was toss and turn and unsuccessfully try to get rid of those demons.

Tonight's worst demon was the body that Bones—and, subsequently, _you_—had been called in to identify the day before. A badly decomposed man, late thirties, had washed up on the beach. An accidental drowning, it would turn out, once Bones figured out he was the same father of two who'd gone overboard during a stormy late-night canoe trip a month earlier. An easy case, but that wasn't what bothered you.

What bothered you was the _smell_. It was the smell of the body and, honestly, you had no idea why this smell was different from any other. Bodies smelled bad all the time. Gruesome sights and smells were things you had sort of become immune to since you started working with Bones. You had to.

But the stench of this body was exceptionally strong. And revolting. The first whiff had given you the urge to puke right then and there, but with Bones around to glare at you you'd managed to keep it all down. The last thing you wanted to do was throw up in front of the woman of your dreams, anyway; a woman who had seen things just as bad—if not worse—than you had and still managed to keep the contents of her stomach under control.

You had stood a good distance away and held a handkerchief to your face while Bones did her thing—she, of course, was outwardly unfazed by her surroundings—but that didn't stop the stench from invading you. It got in your nostrils, in your hair, in your clothes. It crawled under your skin and now, fifteen hours after you'd last seen the body, _you could still smell it._

You had no idea why. No idea what made the stench of this body cling to you like no other. All you knew was that you could still smell it. Still. And, exhausted as you were, it would not let you sleep.

You had showered. Twice. You scrubbed extra hard. You shampooed four times. You had even lit some of those aromatherapy candles that Tessa had left behind all those years ago.

But you could still smell it. _Nothing_ could get rid of that smell.

You smelled it even as you were haunted by your normal nighttime memories. Your mind carried you back to Guatemala, to Kosovo, to dark rooms and torture chambers, and that smell came right along with you.

Three-thirty, and you stared wide-eyed at the ceiling above your bed. You could still smell it. You could _still_ smell it. It. Would. Not. Go. Away.

And it wouldn't let you sleep.

_Sleep_. That was all you wanted. One night of pure, uninterrupted, dead-to-the-world sleep. You didn't want to feel so tired all the time anymore. You didn't want your work to become affected by your lack of sleep. And you sure as hell didn't want Bones to notice—although you were positive she already had. She was the most observant person you'd ever met; of course she noticed the extra coffee per day you'd been drinking recently. Of course she noticed that you nodded off that time while waiting for her to finish her paperwork so the two of you could grab a bite to eat. Of course she noticed the shadows under your eyes, the ones that grew heavier by the day.

But you couldn't sleep. You _couldn't._

That _smell_.

You rolled around in bed, each new position becoming uncomfortable after the first three minutes, until your covers became a tangled mess at your feet. You had started sweating hours ago, and now your sheets were drenched despite the fact that you'd opened all the windows and stripped down to your boxers.

It was hot. Sweltering. And you couldn't breathe. All you could do was smell.

Three forty-five. You sat up, punched your pillows furiously, and slammed your body back down. You shut your eyes tightly and willed yourself to feel nothing, think nothing, _smell nothing_.

It didn't work.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. You got out of bed and slowly made your way through the pitch darkness to your kitchen. You quickly downed two full glasses of water and stood there for a moment, eyes closed. You prayed to God, wished desperately for it to go away.

But. You. Could. Still. Smell. It.

You were choking. Suffocating. Drowning. Your head pounded relentlessly, and it was so hot. The smell made you want to vomit, but you clenched your mouth shut and wouldn't let anything come up. You swallowed the bile in your throat. It was so hot. You were suffocating. Your head hurt. You could still smell it.

Then, a sudden surge anger swept over you—anger at your exhaustion, at your inability to sleep, at _that smell_—and you couldn't help it. You whirled around and punched your wall furiously, your fist breaking through the plaster and leaving behind an ugly, gaping hole.

Your knuckles hurt—maybe they were bleeding—and you cursed, but you could still smell. Irate, you were about to punch the wall again, but then you saw it.

You froze, your eyes fixated on it. And suddenly you longed for her. You'd be willing to beg, plead, anything to get her over here. You couldn't call her. The sound of her voice wouldn't be enough. You would need to touch her, to hold her in your arms, to bring her soft, slender frame close to yours, to bury your face in her hair, and inhale.

You needed her. You were crazy, madly in love with her, but you restrained yourself. She was one of the few things in this world that made you feel good, like a better man, but you couldn't have her. She was half your reason for living. You adored her. But she would never let you have her.

You could, however, have the white scarf she had left behind—if only for one night. It was laying there, on your kitchen table, where she'd innocently dropped it earlier when she'd come over to do some paperwork. She'd forgotten to take it with her when she left. And there it was. Right there on the table.

Unthinking, you snatched it up and pressed it against your face.

It was soft and, somehow, it was still warm. As though she'd discarded it minutes ago instead of hours. Best of all, it had been around her neck, brushing against her hair, soaking up her perfume and her shampoo. It smelled just like her.

You loved her smell. You spent so much time with her, you would know it anywhere. It was unique, something distinctly her. You couldn't define it, but you loved it. All day long you fought the urge to sniff her hair, to place your nose in the crook of her neck and just breathe. She was all you really wanted, all you ever wanted, but you knew you couldn't have her.

But you could have her scarf, and it smelled like her, and that soothed you.

Feeling the tension, the anxiety, the fear, _the smell_ evaporate from your body, you carried the scarf with you to your sofa. As long as you could smell her, you knew the other smell would leave you. You knew you would be okay.

You lay down and, making sure you kept the scarf firmly in place around your mouth and nose, you grabbed a pillow and hugged it to your chest. You pretended it was her. You pretended you were holding her in your arms as her scent washed over you, took you over. And it made you feel more relaxed than you had felt in days.

She would probably think you were pathetic if she could see you. She would probably be disturbed if she could see you. She might even think you were a pervert, getting off on her smell like that. But it didn't matter.

What mattered was that, for the first time in days, you drifted off into a deep, easy slumber. You had dreams, but they were only sweet dreams. Of her. With her scarf—_her scent_—enveloping you, you slept longer and more peacefully than you had in a very long time.

You finally woke up feeling fresh, rested, and ready to take on a new day. And you knew that if you wanted to continue to sleep easily, you would have to make her "forget" articles of clothing in your apartment more often.

_So didja like it? Didja? Didja? If you did (or did not for that matter, since I am trying to grow here) I would surely like to know. Constructive criticism would be a huuuuuuge help! Also, I hate grammer mistakes/typos/tense issues so if you see any, get at me will you? Please and thank you!!_

_Also, this is a one shot for now but I suppose I might be able to be persuaded to make it a five-shot about all of the senses. If you want me to. Maybe even if you don't. I've got a couple of ideas, but ehhhh...nothing concrete yet. _


	2. Gustation

_First and foremost, I would like to send out a big, happy, overjoyed, THANK YOU(!!!) to everyone who reviewed Olfaction. I never expected to get so many good reviews, and you all make me a very happy Harlem (Harlem would be my last name FYI, and it's the only real name you're getting from me). Thank you for encouraging me, and making me a teeny bit more confident in my writing. _

_Now, without further adieu I bring to you…Gustation! This story is not connected to Olfaction at all (it's not a sequel or anything), and Gustation means taste for those of you who didn't know (because I surely didn't…yes, I wikipediaed it). Enjoy!!_

_Oh wait...there is one further adieu: I don't own it, please don't sue me, I don't even have any money to give you if you did._

You shouldn't being doing this. You _knew_ you shouldn't be doing this. You were both well aware of how inappropriate—how _absolutely unprofessional_—your actions were. Especially at work, in your office of all places. This was wrong, very wrong. This was completely over the line.

And besides, the two of you had come to an agreement—or at least, you thought you had—last week at your apartment. You had both agreed that this couldn't continue, it couldn't go any further than it had already gone. You'd slept together once, twice…three times last week but, despite the fact that it was the best sex either of you had ever had, you both knew that being together was too dangerous. You were partners. You worked together. Your lives depended on each other. And you couldn't risk one of you getting hurt or even killed because you were too wrapped up in each other to function properly.

Plus, the last thing either of you wanted was to be split up when your superiors found out that you were sleeping together. Sure, you were the team with the best track record in the Bureau and you hoped that that would count for something, but the key word there was hope. You couldn't risk your partnership because you _hoped_ your superiors liked you enough to let your sexual relationship slip by unpunished if and when they found out about it.

Not to mention that the two of you weren't even on the same page. He was all about dating, romance, and bringing you flowers. You were all about companionship and biological urges. He was the married with kids and a white picket fence type, and you could never see yourself with a family. He was a forever kind of man. You were an 'all-good-things-must-come-to-an-end' kind of girl. He wanted everything from your new relationship. You just wanted the pleasure brought on by the release of endorphins during sexual activity—or at least that was all you were willing to admit you wanted, even to yourself.

Knowing that you were so very different made sleeping together a big risk. Your differences might make things end, and end badly. And no matter how good you could each other feel physically, your friendship was even better.

So you'd both agreed. No more sleeping together. You were going to stop. You were friends. You were partners. You couldn't do this.

But saying and doing were two different things. And—_ooooh_—when he grabbed you around the waist like that, pulled you flush against his chest—not just any chest, mind you, but _his_ chest, the rock-solid, pure-muscle chest you'd been dreaming of cuddling against for years now—and gave your mouth a hot, steamy, tantalizing kiss, who were you to stop him?

Who were you to stop him when, at the first rough contact his hands made with your waist, you felt the trickle of moisture between your thighs—the one that had been slowly oozing out all day—explode into a warm, gushing river? Who were you to stop him when, with the first urgent press of his lips against yours, you could feel his desperation, feel how badly he wanted you—_needed_ you—and you knew that you made him just as crazy as he made you. Who were you to stop him when, as he brought your hips forward to cradle his hard-and-only-getting-harder erection, you felt sex throb almost painfully, your body begging for him to get closer, to touch you here, to place his tongue there? And who were you—_who. were. you._—to stop him when you knew that, on nights when the two of you _weren't_ screwing each other's brains out, you lay all alone in your bed, frantically stroking yourself to an unsatisfying climax while remembering how much he liked to tongue-fuck you?

You didn't want to stop him, you didn't even think you could stop him, but…he was your friend. Your very best friend, who you never wanted to lose. And you owed it him and to yourself to try.

"Booth…" you whispered, your lips somehow never leaving his. You were trying to protest even as you reached behind him for the string to your blinds, tugging them closed and thus hiding the two of you from the prying eyes of your coworkers, "Booth…"

"Temperance." You loved the way he said your name like that. His voice was deep and husky, his breath hot and moist in your mouth. Your knees buckled. You wanted to surrender, to allow yourself to collapse fully and completely into his strong, oh-so-warm embrace.

But you didn't. It took every ounce of strength you possessed to tear your lips away from his, to stop him from tasting every crevice of your mouth, but you did it.

Panting, the two of you stared at each other. His arms still held your body close—like you were really going to go anywhere. You had your arms around his shoulders, fingers laced together behind his neck. Your eyes were riveted to his, taking in their dark, hungry look.

Your lips felt swollen and wet. Unthinking, you slipped your tongue out to lick Booth's distinct, masculine flavor off of them. Booth's eyes immediately flew to your lips and he leaned forward, intent on capturing that tongue with his own, but you placed your hand in front of his mouth and stopped him.

"Booth!" you hissed, trying your hardest to be serious, "Booth, we said we wouldn't do this. We said we wouldn't…" you faltered, momentarily distracted by the hand that began to stroke the silky smooth skin of your lower back beneath your shirt. This time, to your credit, you recovered rather quickly, "Booth…we promised that we wouldn't do this."

"Promised that we wouldn't do what, Temperance?" one hand slipped out from underneath your shirt and began to make its way down, slowly, to the hem of your skirt.

"This!" you gasped as the hand slipped under your skirt and grabbed a handful of fleshy thigh, kneading it gently, "We can't have sex!"

"Then it's a good thing I didn't come in here with the intention of having sex," before you could stop him, he leaned forward and placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss at the hollow of your neck, "I just came to…taste…"

He continued to place those hot kisses all up the column of your neck while the hand beneath your skirt crept closer to your center. You whimpered, wanting nothing more in the world than to beg him to _please, please touch me there. Please…_Better yet, you wanted him on his knees. You wanted his head between your thighs, his tongue dipping inside of you, tasting you. You were so wet, your sex was pulsing—throbbing—almost to the point where it was painful. It would be such a relief to let him touch you, to let his tongue explore your folds and stroke you until you came. Hard. You always came hard when it was him tasting you.

"No tasting either, Booth," you said, half-moaning. He bit you. Just below your left ear. Your favorite spot. You squealed and involuntarily dug your nails into the skin at the nape of his neck, "We said we wouldn't…"

"We said we wouldn't have sex," Booth pointed out, "Nobody ever said tasting was off limits," he licked a long, wet path up your neck.

"Booth! Please!" you finally managed to put a noticeable amount of conviction in your voice.

He stopped. He got his face out of your neck and took the misbehaving hand out from under your skirt, placing it back on your waist instead. He straightened and looked at you. You sighed in half-relief. The other half of you—the half of you that wanted the orgasm he promised to give you more than you wanted your next breath—grew increasingly frustrated. But you knew he was serious now.

"I'm sorry, Bones," he apologized, "I'm sorry…I know," he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, "We agreed to have a…a…"

"Strictly platonic relationship," you finished, half-wishing that he wouldn't say these things even though you were the one who'd pushed him into it.

"Right. A strictly platonic relationship."

"You going around randomly _tasting_ me does not constitute a strictly platonic relationship, Booth," you said crossly, glaring at him. Suddenly, you were annoyed. He came in here and grabbed you and got you all hot and bothered and _oh so wet_, without your permission, even if you were helpless to reciprocate for awhile, when he knew the two of you couldn't have sex. He knew that this so-called _tasting_ wasn't going to be able to satisfy the desire _he'd_ unleashed in you. And the worst part? That desire was only for _him_. You were hot and bothered and flushed and flustered only for _him_. Not for anyone else; no man, vibrator, or dildo was going to satisfy you like he could.

_If only he could._

"Right. Tasting you does not constitute a strictly platonic relationship," he echoed. He looked at you intently, and you dropped your gaze. You couldn't look at him now—you _couldn't_—or you'd see his smoldering expression and give in. You wanted to give in so badly. You clamped your thighs together tightly, willing the ache between them to simply disappear. It only increased. The two of you stood in silence, not moving, his hands at your waist and your arms around his neck, for a long, endless moment.

"So now what?" he finally asked. You met his eyes. The hungry look was still there but so was something else. And you weren't good at reading people but it didn't take a genius in that department to see that it was sadness. Sadness. He was sad.

So were you. But you had to compartmentalize.

"Now…" you hesitated, then pulled your arms from around his neck, "Now you let me go."

But he didn't. He held you around the waist and stared at you with such intensity that you had to drop your eyes again. You couldn't look at him. You tried to take a step backwards, away from his warm body, but he wouldn't let you.

"One last taste, Bones?" he asked softly, "To say goodbye?"

_YES! _you screamed on the inside, _YES, please kiss me again! Please kiss me…_

"No, Booth, no…" you said out loud, looking him in the eye so he knew you meant it, "If you kiss me again we'll never be able to stop."

It was true, and you both knew it.

"Not on the lips, then," he murmured, leaning forward, "But at least let me do this…"

He pressed his lips softly against your forehead and let them rest there for a moment before pulling away. There was no tongue, no tasting, but the spot flared up as if you'd been burned. He let his arms drop from around you and took a step backwards. Immediately, whatever it was that came alive within you, that made your body sing, whenever he touched you evaporated. You felt cold. You felt empty. You wanted him back.

But you knew you couldn't have him. So you fiercely told yourself to compartmentalize.

For a moment you both just stood there, unsure of what to do.

"Well then," Booth finally said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "I guess I should let you get back to work."

"Right," you snapped back to life. You was here, in you office, and outside in your lab there was the skeleton of an eight-hundred year old man waiting for your identification. You couldn't just stand here all day, "So I'll see you later, then?"

"I'll call you when we have a case."

"Okay…Bye then."

"See ya, Bones."

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Eight o'clock that night and you couldn't take it anymore. You burst through the door to his office and strode all the way around the desk to where he was sitting. He looked startled to see you, and he should be, but it had only been six hours and already you knew you couldn't live like this.

"Booth," the words tumbled out of your mouth as you stopped so close to his chair that your legs touched his. You had no idea what you were going to say next, but you couldn't stop yourself from saying it, "I can't handle a strictly platonic relationship anymore. We've crossed the line and I don't know what I want, but I can't go back. I've tried to be logical about this but I _can't_, Booth. I can compartmentalize during the day but at night I'm all alone and…" you took a deep breath. He was watching you with a wide-eyed expression of disbelief. Almost as if he thought that you standing here in front of him, saying these things, was all a hallucination. You slowed down a little, "I…I don't know what I want, Booth, but I know I don't want this. And I know there are a lot of discrepancies but I'd rather give you everything in a romantic relationship than give you only half in a platonic one. And I—"

You stopped short as Booth stood, his lean, muscular body unfolding before your very eyes. He towered above you and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at you.

"Go on," he encouraged after a moment. You weren't sure, but you could have sworn there might be a hint of amusement in his tone, "Finish the sentence. And you…"

"And I…" you hesitated. Your body was trembling from adrenaline and fear and, of course, _desire_ all rolled into one, "And I…I really just need to taste you again, Agent Booth. Please."

No sooner were the words off your lips before he swooped in and attacked them. He wrapped his arms around your back and yanked you closer, pushing his tongue past your easy-to-open lips and finding yours. A moan escaped your throat as you eagerly deepened the kiss so you could taste more of him, more of him, more _please_…His taste was unique, something you couldn't describe other than to say it was good and strong and purely masculine and heady and dizzifying and…

And it was so, _so_ addicting.

_Ta Da!!!! I wasn't so sure about that very last line, but I needed a way to end it and I couldn't think of anything else. _

_I've got a few ideas for the next few senses, but nothing definite yet. I'm thinking that maybe I'll make hearing a one-shot, and then sight and touch a two-shot. Maybe. We'll see. It might be a few days before you see another one of these though, because Thursday-Sunday are my busiest days of the week. Also, I half-wrote another one-shot that I might post first depending on my mood._

_Now, what you and me have right here, it's called a symbiotic relationship. We benefit from each other. I give you nice long story to make you happy, and you give me nice quick review. Right?_

_(Major points if someone can name the episode where Booth told another character that s/he was in a symbiotic relationship…Come on, it's easy.)_


	3. Vision

_Sorry this post is a little later than I expected! I've been a little busy over the past few days, and I started off with one idea for Vision and had it halfway written before I decided I didn't like it anymore and deleted it. I had planned to post Monday morning…then Tuesday morning…then Tuesday night…and now, here we are, Wednesday afternoon. But better late than never, right?_

_HUUUUGE thanks to people who reviewed my first two chapters. I've been meaning to start responding to every review personally, but I got a little too busy and I had to let that slide this time. I hope to start responding personally to everyone who reviews from now on. But that doesn't mean I don't love and cherish and appreciate every single review I got before this point…I'm serious. Reviews give me confidence, and confidence makes me happy =)_

_Also, the answer to the symbiotic question in my last chapter is Aliens in a Spaceship, so big, giant, enormous chocolate covered Booths (or Temperances, if that's your preference) for corik80, sarcasticrules, Ashleigh, MickeyBoggs, and an exceptionally large one for Geaux Tigers (cuz s/he was the first one to get it)._

_This chapter is a little less steamy than my last chapter, but __**I have changed the rating to M**__ (kiddies, please take note) because A.) someone suggested that I probably should have done it for the last chapter and they're right B.) there are a couple of naughty words in here and C.) future chapters may contain violent scenarios and/or smut (no promises, but if everything goes like I think it's gonna go…then yeah)._

_Anyways, sorry for my rambling. Read away!_

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He had told you not to ask questions. _Just trust me_, he had said, _don't you think I know what I'm doing? _He wanted to do something nice for you and apparently it _would be a hell of a lot easier if you would just be quiet, Bones. For once in your life, please?_

And you'd like to believe that you'd done a good job of not questioning him. After initially demanding that you know where you were being taken and seeing that he was really, truly not going to tell you, you'd flopped yourself down in your usual place, fastened your seatbelt, and leaned your head against the window. It had been a long day and you were tired. If it wasn't for Booth, you probably would be taking a long, hot bubble bath right now. You dozed off almost immediately and when you woke up nearly a half hour later he was still driving. It wasn't until forty-five minutes later that he'd finally stopped the vehicle and, while you'd talked and engaged in your normal pointless arguments, you hadn't asked him where you were going that whole time.

But now he was trying to blindfold you.

"What? Booth!" you exclaimed when he pulled a cloth seemingly out of nowhere and went for your head, "Booth, you are _not_ blindfolding me."

"Aww come on, Bones. I don't want to ruin the surprise."

"What surprise? Where are we Booth?" it was dark, and all you could see out of your window was forest, forest, and more forest. From the signs you'd passed earlier, you could gather that you were in Virginia, but that was it, "Where are you taking me?"

"To a secret place. Secret as in, you can't know the way. So come on, close your eyes. I promise I'm not gonna bite. Unless you want me to," he said, wriggling his eyebrows.

His stupid charm smile somehow made that cliché line seem a little less cliché. You smiled faintly as your pulse sped up a little. This was how it always was; he wanted to coax you into something, you refused to be coaxed, he flashed the smile that made your knees weak every time, and you somehow ended up with a scarf tied over your eyes.

"And how am I supposed to walk, exactly?" you demanded, still trying to maintain a shred of dignity by lacing your voice with attitude.

"You're not."

You shrieked in surprise when he picked you up and swung you over his shoulder head first like some sort of ancient hominid.

"Just hold still, Bones," he said, holding you tight around the waist with one arm. He started moving, and you heard the sound of the car door shut. Then he was walking, "We're going into the woods and the path is a little rocky. Don't make me fall and drop you. Plus we'll be too late if I don't hurry. We've got to be there at a certain time."

"For what?" you questioned, deciding to heed his advice. You stopped wriggling but placed your palms on his shoulders in attempt to push yourself up a little further.

"Careful woman, we're in the woods. Sit up too far and I can't be held responsible if a tree branch takes your head off."

You immediately dropped your head and nestled down into his arms, realizing that even though you were curious as to where you were going, it was comfortable to just let Booth carry you. He was so big and his body was so warm that being in his arms felt as if he had enveloped you, swallowed you whole and taken you to a safe place where he would always be there—_always—_to protect you. And, even though you prided yourself on not needing anyone else to defend your honor, you admitted to yourself that what you were feeling right now was nice. You relaxed your body even further and listened to the sounds of his heavy breathing and occasional grunting—a purely masculine sound that turned you on to hear—as he carried you uphill. Although you could tell he was exerting himself, years of inconspicuous glances and sneaky—but admiring—peeks at certain parts of Special Agent Seeley Booth's anatomy told you that he was not going to tire out anytime soon. After awhile you wrapped your arms around his neck and snuggled just a little bit closer, catching a strong whiff of his oh-so-spicy cologne in the process. A tingle of warmth spread to every crevice of your body—it was particularly strong between your tightly squeezed thighs—and you sighed.

Booth had deprived you of your sight, but that was okay for now; you had plenty of other senses to make up for the loss. And with Booth's breath tickling your ear while you were pressed tight against his please-let-me-touch chest you felt…contented.

Booth continued on in silence for about five minutes, and you wondered if he was enjoying this as much as you were. Probably not. He was the one doing all the exercise and, although you were slim, you weren't exactly the lightest thing to be hauling up a wooded hill in the darkness. And besides, Booth didn't think of you in the way that you thought of him—he probably spent most of his nights fucking the hell out of some lucky blonde, not alone in bed getting all hot and bothered by fantasies of you the way you did about fantasies of him. You were partners and there was a line and he had made it very clear that neither of you could cross it. But, even though you knew that it was only pheromones that made Special Agent Seeley Booth seem as appealing as he did, that didn't stop you from wanting him in the worst way.

And you'd come to terms with that. You'd stopped fighting yourself and allowed yourself to fantasize guilt-free about your partner grinding his erection into your hot, wet heat in all kinds of freaky positions. That was okay to do, you thought, as long as you continued to bear in mind that he did _not_ want you back. As long as you continued to bear in mind that, for as long as you were attracted to him—which would be forever—you would have to live like a Victorian woman of the nineteenth century; you had to suppress your desires, not act upon them.

But now, at times like this, when you were so close…what was the harm in pretending? You didn't usually indulge in such irrational, unrealistic behavior but…what was the harm in pretending that, in this very moment, Booth felt the same way you did? You sighed again and snuggled a little closer, imagining what would happen if his hand—the one that currently was resting on your side, just below your ribcage—were to creep just a little higher. Or lower, for that matter.

"Bones?"

"Mmm?" you mumbled, feeling so perfectly at peace that you didn't want to move despite the fact that your genius brain had registered the fact that Booth had stopped walking.

"Aww come on Bones, don't tell me you fell asleep on me again," Booth complained, swatting your shoulder gently, "It's only eleven forty-five. If I hadn't come and dragged you away you'd still be wide awake working at the lab right now."

You smiled against his shoulder, knowing that he was probably right.

"Don't you wanna know where we are?"

"Yes!" you exclaimed suddenly, lifting your head off his shoulder and glaring blindly in the direction that you knew his face was in, "I believe I inquired as to our whereabouts numerous times, but you refused to enlighten me."

"Yeah, well stand up on your own for about thirty seconds while I fix something. Then you can take the blindfold off and be enlightened."

You were reluctant to leave the comfort his arms provided, but you did as he asked anyway. You stood still for a minute or so, afraid to take a step forward and collide with a tree branch, and listened to Booth making rustling noises a few steps ahead of you.

"Okay, Bones, give me your hand."

You obliged, and he lead you forward a few paces. He then proceeded to let go of your hand so he could place his own hands on your hips—_the very same hands you'd been itching to have touch you in all kinds of naughty places for years—_and pressed down lightly.

"Now sit, Bones. I'm right here to guide you—"

"What? Booth!" you interrupted, frustrated, "I am _not_ sitting on the dirty ground! I'm wearing my favorite pair of jeans!"

"Hey calm down, woman. I put a blanket down. Now come on, have a seat."

He helped you sit down on the ground and, jokingly assuring you that he wasn't about to molest you—not that you'd have minded—, he eased you down until you were laying on your back. You felt him settle next to you and he placed a hand on either side of your blindfold.

"Okay, Bones. Ready to see now?"

You nodded eagerly. You knew that Booth had gone all out to surprise you and, despite your demands to know where you were being taken, you were actually enjoying yourself. But still…it would be nice to know where you were.

"Alright, here goes."

He peeled the blindfold away, and it took your eyes a moment to adjust to being able to see again. When you did, the very first thing you saw was his face—his eyes, actually. They were a deep, dark shade of brown, twinkling in amusement and anticipation. You saw his nose, mere inches away from your own as he hovered over you. You saw his soft, please-kiss-me-now lips curled up into a gentle smile.

"Hope you like this, Bones," he murmured before moving away from you, settling down on his back. He was so close to you that your shoulders touched, and you liked that.

But the first thing you saw—the very first thing you saw—when he pulled away from you was the night sky. It was deep, velvety black, and full of a seemingly endless number of bright, glittering stars. You saw the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, you saw Canis Major and Dolphinus—your favorite. You saw Venus, the brightest of all the little points in the sky, and Jupiter as well. You saw a falling star—although you knew that, in actuality, stars didn't really just _fall_ from the sky; just as they didn't really twinkle or glitter. And you saw the moon.

A big, round, glowing full moon.

You briefly looked at your earthly surroundings and saw that Booth had brought you to some sort of clearing in the middle of the woods. Nearby there was a playground and a barbeque pit, and you could see that you were in a park of some kind. He'd laid a blanket down in the center of the clearing, and that was where you were now laying.

But you only tore your eyes away from the sky long enough to register where you were. You then promptly returned them, amazed.

It had been such a long time since you'd deliberately gone stargazing, and you'd forgotten how much you enjoyed it. Surrounded by the buildings and lights of Washington D.C., you'd forgotten exactly how beautiful the night sky was. And how crisp and clear the air was around you. And how the vast, endless sky could capture your attention and hold it for hours—_hours—_as you sought out every constellation and planet visible to the naked eye.

Booth chuckled in your ear.

"I thought you would like this."

"Booth! I haven't done this in a long time! Not since…"

Not since before your parents disappeared, before Russ abandoned you, before your mother was murdered and before your father was a murderer. Not since you were young enough to lie sandwiched between your parents, listening to your father with rapt attention as he named every star and traced every constellation.

It was one of your earliest childhood memories, and one of your favorites. Even as a little girl you had been fascinated by astrology.

You glanced over at Booth and his face broke into a grin.

"I know, Bones," he said, reaching for your hand. He clasped it tightly in his own, and you tried to shake off the feeling that this—the two of you lying shoulder-to-shoulder on a blanket in a clearing in the middle of the woods, holding hands as you gazed up at the starry night sky above you—this was not something that _just partners_ would do.

"How…Why…" you studied his smiling face, speechless. After a moment he squeezed your hand, and you made another attempt to form a coherent sentence. It worked this time, "This is one of the nicest things you've ever done for me, Booth. This is one of the nicest things _anyone_ has ever done for me…Who…what gave you this idea?"

You were genuinely touched. You weren't the kind of girl who people usually went out of their way for, and the fact that Booth had gone through so much trouble just to bring you to the perfect spot…

He shrugged and returned his gaze to the sky. You did the same.

"I just…I know how you like the stars," he spoke softly after a moment, "What I really wanted to do was bring you out here last weekend when there was supposed to be that lunar eclipse, but it ended up raining and I don't think you would've liked the mud. And besides," he checked his cell phone, and then held it up in front of your face so you could see what time it was. Twelve a.m. exactly. He put it back in his pocket and leaned a little closer to your ear, "I happen to think that today's a better day for it…Happy birthday, Bones."

With that he placed a gentle, lingering kiss on your cheek, then lifted your hand—the one that was already wrapped in his own—up to do the same. A flush spread from your face down to your breasts and all the way to your pulsing, throbbing sex. He turned his head and your eyes met for a brief, charged moment.

There was something in his eyes..._something there_…You could see it, you just couldn't figure out quite what it was. But somehow it caught you, held your gaze, wouldn't let you look away,

"Thank you, Agent Booth," you murmured after a long moment, and his eyes immediately dropped to your lips. They hung there for a moment, and then it became clear. Then you could really see it. Then you knew.

He wanted to kiss you. He, Seeley Booth, wanted to kiss you just as badly as you had been wanting to kiss him all these years. Your social skills were a mess, and you weren't sure how you suddenly knew this, but you did.

You could see it that he was thinking about it. And, when his eyes flew back to yours, you smiled, stroked his hand with the pad of your thumb, and whispered two small words:

"Do it."

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_So remember, kids (although really none of you should be kids since I changed the rating to M) reviews feed the muse. And a stuffed muse is a happy muse. And a happy muse finds it much much easier to write about the Somasensory System (wikipedia it). _


	4. Haptic Perception, Part I

_As always, thank you guys sooo much for all of your fantabulous reviews. And yes, fantabulous is a word because my Microsoft Word hasn't put a red squiggle line underneath it, and Word would never lie to me. Haha. Anyway (back on point) I love each and every one of you wonderful readers, and hopefully I managed to personally respond to everyone's reviews. If I somehow missed you, I'm sorry I didn't mean it I swear!! I love you just as much (if not more) than I love everyone else! _

_I now proudly present you with my next installment, Haptic Perception. According to my beloved friend Wikipedia, Haptic Perception is "the process of recognizing objects through touch." _

_So yeah, this installment is all about some yummy B&B touching. However, it's taking me longer than I would like to complete. It's almost done (seriously…I'm so close) but this stupid thing called my real life keeps getting in the way. Last week was crazy busy and I expect that next week will be even busier. I have no clue when I'm going to have time to finish, so I decided to break this into two parts. I'm actually quite happy with this first part, so hopefully you are too!_

_Hopefully I'll be able to bring Part II to you within a week, but no promises! It's much longer than Part I and it's also my first attempt ever at writing some real smut, so I suppose you could say I'm trying to find my element with it._

_One last thing, Part I is rated M (for real this time haha) so if that's not your cup of tea I suggest you leave._

_Enjoy!_

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It was ten o'clock at night, the close of a difficult, frustrating, seemingly endless Friday. You'd spent most of it hunting down the man accused of murdering a thirteen-year-old girl, only to catch up to him by discovering his body floating in a local pond; he'd taken the coward's way out and committed suicide just one day earlier. It irked you to know that this man—a man who'd bound, starved, and beaten an innocent adolescent to death—would never get to see the inside of a prison cell. Childkillers were always hated in prison, and this man deserved the punishment of being locked up in a place where he would be taunted and abused by men much bigger and badder than himself—men who would think of their own wives, sisters, daughters, and nieces when they heard of the girl he had violated. No, death was not a good enough sentence for this man.

It had been an awful day and, in the end, you were so exhausted that all you wanted was to quickly hop in the shower and climb directly into bed. You hadn't had a date since God-knows-when and you'd probably just end up laying awake for hours trying to resurrect the memory of how good—how _damn fine_—Bones had looked in the pair of painted-on jeans and high heeled boots she'd been wearing that day.

Let's just say that work wasn't the only thing that had you frustrated these days; your partner had legs—long, wrap-tight-around-my-hips-while-I-fuck-you-to-insanity legs—like you wouldn't believe, and that wasn't the only part of her anatomy that you were attracted to. The more time you spent around her—that is, the more time you spent discreetly eyeing all feminine aspects of that beautifully built body while listening to her run her squinty mouth—the more you craved to effectively silence her with a hot, passionate kiss on her pretty little lips.

And tonight, instead of climbing into bed like you so desperately wanted to do, you were forced to go spend even more time with her. Murderers who committed suicide were messy, and the two of you had a mountain of paperwork to complete. Since your social life was nonexistent—and she apparently had nothing better to do—there was no night like a Friday night to get it done.

Not that you didn't enjoy every minute you spent in her company. You did. In fact, there was no one in the world that you preferred being with over her. She might be socially inept around others, but with you she was funny, interesting, smart, quirky, opinionated, and generally fun to be around. Not to mention that, whether she was conscious of it or not, she cared about you a hell of a lot more than anyone else ever had. And you cared about her just as much.

She was also sexy as all hell and, not being in the best of moods, you weren't sure how much of her absolute oblivion to the fact that you wanted her—_bad_—you could take tonight. Someday you were going to reach your limit. She was going to be minding her own business, doing nothing wrong but innocently wearing one of those low-cut blouses or one of those skirts that hugged her shapely bottom, and you were going to snap. You were going to grab her by the waist, pull her flush against the erection that was always standing at half-mast around her, and kiss her senseless. Someday you weren't going to be able to control yourself anymore.

During the drive to her place you'd prayed like hell that she wasn't still wearing those low-rise, hug-your-cute-ass-like-a-second-skin jeans that she'd been wearing earlier, or that day just might be today. When you knocked on the door to her apartment you told yourself that even if she was, you were a gentleman and you knew how to behave. There would be no reaching around and pinching Bones's behind no matter how alluring it looked.

Still, you wanted to yell and kick something in pure frustration when she opened the door and you realized that not only was she still wearing those jeans but she was now barefoot, which was even worse than when she was wearing boots because you could look down and catch a glimpse of her pretty plum-colored toenails. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, she had taken off the stylish-but-strictly-professional sweater she'd been wearing all day. She'd welcomed you into her apartment wearing nothing but a white, low-cut, form-fitting tank top.

The amount of cleavage that woman was showing ought to have been a sin—in fact, it probably was—and it took every last ounce of your self control not to stare or, worse, get a full blown erection or, worse, reach out and touch her like you wanted to. You watched her fuss around the kitchen, grabbing you a beer and pouring herself a glass of red wine, and forced yourself to think about dead bodies. It was the only thing stopping you from taking those gorgeous breasts in your hands and caressing them, kneading them, until the woman whose anatomy they were a part of tossed her head back and let out a low, breathy moan of pure delight.

As the two of you settled down in her living room to begin working, you made sure that you were on opposite ends of her sofa with a ton of pillows in between you. You forced every single inappropriate thought out of your head and made yourself focus on the task at hand: bringing justice to the parents of a murdered child. The girl's family deserved to have you at your absolute best, not distracted by illicit thoughts about your partner's mesmerizing cleavage.

You managed to give the paperwork your undivided attention for nearly an hour. Then Bones had to go to the bathroom. You never looked up as she left the room, but on her way back in she stopped to pick up an envelope that had fallen on the floor. She bent over at the waist—_all. the. way. over._—and you were afforded an unobstructed view of velvety soft breasts snug against lacy black bra.

You quickly grabbed one of the pillows and shoved it in your lap before she could look up and realize that your cock had immediately sprung to life. She fussed around with the papers on the coffee table and you tried to stare as hard as you could at the paper in front of you. But you couldn't help it; you finally broke down and snuck a glance at what was hanging practically in your face.

God, they looked so good. All nice and creamy and firm and velvety-soft and…perfect. Absolutely perfect. For years you'd been dying to take a peek at the label of one of her bras so you could know what size she was. You had yet to get up the nerve to do something so bold, but after months of careful, discreet examination of Bones's female parts, you would guess that she was a 34C. A 34C. The perfect size. Not too big, not too little. Enough for you to have something to work with, but not so much that it would overwhelm you.

She finally straightened, flashed you a smile, and sat back down. You stared at her incredulously as she immediately resumed working. She had to have known that she had just given you a spectacular view of her breasts—what kind of woman wouldn't know that? And yet, she didn't seem to think much of it. How could a woman as fucking brilliant as she was be so really, truly ignorant of the effect she had on you? Did she even know you were a man? She had to; she made fun of your alpha-male tendencies all the time. How could she not realize that she was torturing you to death here? All you wanted was to pull her down into your lap and nuzzle your face between those delicious breasts of hers, and she was oblivious. Fucking oblivious. Just sitting there, innocently filling out paperwork as though she had not just done something to turn you on like no other.

It took your body ten minutes to settle back down and fifteen minutes for Bones to get tired of the position she was sitting in.

She slid gracefully from the sofa to the floor, balancing the paperwork on top of a stack of pillows in her lap, legs outstretched. Her back rested against the base of the sofa. She continued to write whatever it was that she was writing, apparently comfortable. You would've continued to write too except…

Except the woman was now sitting on the floor, and you were not only behind her, but above her. _Above her_, and again, you had an unobstructed view down her tank top. You couldn't see as much lacy black bra as the last time, but still…

_Why couldn't she just put on a shirt? _

She was looking down, so focused on the paperwork in her lap that she couldn't even _see _you. You were free to stare hungrily at the smooth, silky tops of her breasts for as long as you wanted.

And stare you did. You couldn't take your eyes off of her. You watched her chest heave slowly up and down in tune to her breathing and allowed all sorts of forbidden fantasies to run through your head. If only you could touch her—just a _touch_—you would be the happiest man in the world. You wanted to see if she was really as soft and warm as she looked. You wanted to see if she was sensitive, if her breath would hitch at your caress. Would she moan easily at the slightest graze of your fingers across her nipples, or would you have to take them between your thumb and forefinger and rub them? You wondered what color her nipples were. Rosy pink or light brown? Would she like it better if you bit them or if you flicked your tongue over them? You wondered how loudly you could get her to cry out. Maybe, if you peeled those tight jeans off and put your tongue in the right places, you could make her scream. What would she taste like? Sweet, she had to taste sweet. She'd be thick and gooey and delicious, just like a…

"Booth?" she asked suddenly, interrupting your wild-and-only-getting-wilder fantasies. She hadn't looked up at you, but she had stopped writing. You glanced down to make sure one of her pillows was still stationed securely over your bulging erection before you answered.

"Ahh…yeah Bones?"

"What are you staring at?"

You flushed slowly. You couldn't believe it. She hadn't moved, she hadn't looked behind her, she hadn't so much as glanced at you out the corner of one eye, and yet she had somehow caught you staring at her. For four years you'd been getting away with ogling her discreetly and now, when you figured it was safe to openly stare because she wasn't even facing your direction, she'd finally caught you.

You cleared your throat and tried to play it off. There was no way she could possibly have seen you staring at her.

"Nothing. I wasn't staring at anything."

"Yes you were."

You frowned.

"What are you talking about, Bones? I'm just sitting here trying to copy over my damn field notes."

"Are you?" she asked disbelievingly. She put the papers and pillows that were in her lap on the floor and turned to face you.

"You weren't even looking at me, Bones!" you exclaimed, exasperated, "How would you know I was staring at something?"

"Well, first of all, the sound of your pen scratching against the paper stopped a long time ago," she explained. Her gaze swept over you from head to foot, giving you a once-over, "Secondly, your indignant reaction leads me to conclude that I'm correct; you were, in fact, staring at something."

"No I wasn't…I mean, at the wall, maybe. I was just thinking about Parker," you lied, the first thing you could think of coming out of your mouth. She smirked.

"Parker, huh?" she asked. You watched as her eyes slid down your body once again and lingered for a moment on the pillows that hid your manhood from her. When her eyes met yours again, that snotty little smirk of hers seemed to increase tenfold. She leaned forward just a little, "What about him?"

She was doing it on purpose…well, maybe not before, but this time? Definitely. She knew, _she. knew.,_ that when she leaned forward you could see even further down her shirt. She knew you could see a hell of a lot of black lace. There was no way she couldn't know. What was she doing? Teasing you? Punishing you for staring by dangling them right in your face? Maybe, but there was something else. You'd seen that look in her eyes before, many times. Challenging you. She was challenging you. She was daring you to break eye contact, to look down—however briefly—at her exposed cleavage.

_Why?_

You didn't know, and you didn't want to find out. She was probably just looking for a little proof before she came to a conclusion. Of course. Your Bones _would_ need to see the evidence before she determined that she needed to kick your ass. Well, you weren't going to give it to her.

You weren't going to break eye contact.

That's what you told yourself, anyway, but you were so busy trying to _not_ look at your partner's cleavage that you forgot that you were supposed to be answering her question—_What about him?_ A few moments passed in silence, and then she reached up slowly and traced the outline of her tank top with one finger, just over her breasts.

That was what did it. You glanced down, only for a fraction of a second, but it didn't matter. She saw you. When you met her eyes again, they were shimmering triumphantly. She knew she had won. You just wondered how long it was going to take for her to send a karate chop in your direction, or for her to launch into a squinty anthropological tirade about objectifying and demeaning and alpha male blah, blah, blah…

But, much to your absolute, utter surprise, she didn't do any of that. Instead, she smiled—_smiled?_—and slowly stood up. And, before you knew what was happening and before you could utter a word of protest, she came to stand directly in front of you—so close that your legs were touching—and leaned over, giving you a full, up close and personal view of her breasts.

_What the hell is she doing?_

It took everything you had in you not to reach out and grab her, but you managed it. You kept your hands by your sides as she leaned even closer…closer…until her lips were mere centimeters away from your ear. _God_, you could hear her light breathing and smell her perfume. Your cock tightened and twitched painfully, and you clenched your hands into fists.

"Agent Booth…" she whispered seductively, her hot breath feathering your ear. You flinched in surprise when you felt her tongue flick softly over your earlobe. Her hands reached up to cup her breasts and she began to knead them gently, exactly the way you'd been longing to do just seconds before.

_What. The. Hell. Was. She. Doing? _For the moment, you were too stunned to open your mouth. You were too stunned to do anything but stare at her, but watch her hands as she opened her mouth again.

"Agent Booth…" still a seductive whisper, "What were you staring at just now? Be honest this time…"

"Bones, what the hell are you doing?" you finally demanded. She was right there, in your face, so close that you could easily grab her and mold her body to yours. And, _God_, you wanted to. You really wanted to. But you couldn't. She was your partner, she was your best friend, and no matter how badly you wanted her—no matter how fucking unbelievably sexy she looked in a pair of skintight jeans and a tank top—you couldn't have her. There were lines that the two of you couldn't cross, and this was definitely one of them.

"I'm…asking a question," she murmured, so close—_so close_—to your ear, "Were you staring at my breasts just now? And earlier, when I was leaning over the coffee table? And earlier, when I was in the kitchen getting you a beer? And Booth, this afternoon when I was talking to Angela…were you staring at my ass?"

"What? You _knew?"_ you asked, astounded. Never, ever before now had she ever given you any indication that she knew. She had acted so innocent and so thoroughly oblivious to what was going on. You should have known—a part of you had suspected, but never really had any verification—that it was an act. Of course it was an act. No woman could be as goddamn physically attractive as she was and not know it.

"That you salivated over my feminine attributes every time my back was turned?" she asked, her breath still hot in your ear, "I wasn't certain at first, Booth, but just now…you were fairly obvious…"

_To be continued..._

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_Aaaaand that's it for Part I, folks. I hope that was a good stopping point. I picked it because I like the way Part II will open. Like I said, I hope to have Part II up within a week, but I do have a lot going on and I've got to prioritize. You have no idea how sad it makes me that writing is not on the top of my list of priorities. _


	5. Haptic Perception, Part II

_I'm sorry to have kept you wonderful people waiting so long but…here it is! Haptic Perception, Part II. Turns out I'm an awful prioritizer. Who knew?_

_If you haven't read Part I already, you should definitely get on that first. Otherwise you may be slightly confused._

_Anyways, this is my very first EVER attempt at smut (part of the reason it took so long to write). I think I did an okay job, but I need you reviewers to be the judge. I'm a little worried that maybe it's too…I don't even know, haha. I suppose I just occasionally felt as though I were using the same verbs/adjectives over and over, which would make it boring. I tried to eliminate that, but do let me know what you think and if anybody has any tips for a new-smutter, please feel free to fire away._

_One last thing, it's three in the morning. I've been up since 7:30, and I went to sleep at 4 last night. I proofread this a couple of times but being that I'm a wee bit sleepy (ahem…understatement) I could have missed a few spots. I just wanted to get this to you guys now because I most likely won't have time in the next few days (I'm REALLY going to prioritize this time), and I love you all too much to keep you waiting until Monday. _

_Okay, I'm done talking. Goodnight!_

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This was _definitely_ not on the list of outcomes you'd expected if Bones had ever caught you 'salivating over her feminine attributes.' You'd expected that she would be angry, outraged, downright livid if she ever saw the way you looked at her or knew the way you thought about her. You'd expected yelling, screaming, physical and verbal abuse. You'd expected to be called a chauvinist and have a door slammed in your face. Never had you imagined this woman practically _in your lap_, whispering seductive words into your ear.

This was more like a fantasy.

There had to be a catch. There had to be. She was probably just acting. Yes, that was it. She was teasing you, getting you all riled up so she could turn into a screaming feminist monster and throw you out on your ass with the hardest cock you'd ever had as punishment for acting like a pig. That had to be what she was doing. Had to be.

Because if not, it looked a hell of a lot like she was trying to seduce you. And you were fairly certain that Bones did not think of you in that way. Four years of partnership, and she had never once given you any indication that she saw you as anything more than a very good friend.

You noticed that she had leaned back a little, gotten her lips out of your ear, and was watching you intently. Her eyes scanned your face; studied your eyes, your nose, and lingered just a little bit longer on your mouth. Then she smirked. Again.

"I know what you want, Booth."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she flung the pillow responsible for hiding your massive erection across the room and dropped down into your lap. She straddled you, one knee sinking into the cushions on either side of you. It wasn't until she reached for your hands that common sense finally kicked in and you snatched them away.

"Bones—!"

"Shh!" she crooned in the huskiest, sexiest voice you'd ever heard in your life. That voice made you want to forget everything—forget that she was your partner, forget that she was your best friend, forget that not wanting to hurt her was your biggest reason for not sleeping with her before now, forget that she didn't believe in making love or falling in love or getting married or any of the things you truly wanted from her—and just fling her over the arm of the couch and fuck her. You'd fuck her until she screamed her throat raw, until she couldn't even use that sexy fucking voice anymore.

Your cock hardened and became even more painful—if that was even fucking possible—and you wanted to groan out loud when she grabbed your hands again. This time, you couldn't pull away.

"Bones you really don't know what you're playing with here," you tried to warn her, but she only smiled and pulled your hands forward.

"Booth," she kept on with that sexy little crooning, "I know you want to _touch me._"

On those last two words, she placed your hands directly over her breasts and squeezed.

"_Jesus, Bones!_" you exclaimed, too shocked at your partner's brazen behavior and the feel of her soft, malleable breasts under your fingertips to pull away. Your hands were touching her breasts. _Your hands were touching her breasts._ And damn, they felt just as warm and inviting as they had in all your fantasies. All you had to do was move your thumbs a little and you'd be stroking her nipples. All you had to do was slide your hands up a little, then back down, and you would be underneath her shirt—you really wanted to be underneath her bra as well, but you were sure that could be arranged.

She smiled at you, the witch. She smiled a devious little smile and watched you intently, waiting for your reaction.

"Come on, Booth," she murmured after a moment, breasts heaving in your hands, "Touch them. Squeeze them. You spend so much time staring at them. I know you want to."

You did—you_ did_. But you couldn't.

"No."

What you did next was absolutely the most physically painful thing you'd ever done in your life. You pulled your hands away. She looked at you, the smile gone, shock written all over her face. The poor woman. She was so fucking gorgeous she'd probably never been rejected before in her life. Surely not by a man who had an erection for her damn near the length of a ruler and his hands securely cupping her breasts.

For a moment she just sat there staring at you, and you could see the wheels inside her genius brain turning, struggling to understand what you were doing.

"Don't you want me, Booth?" she finally asked, sounding a lot less sure of herself now than she had when she was playing sexy seductress. She glanced down at the massive erection straining against the fabric of your jeans, "Or is that all for someone else?"

You exhaled loudly.

"That's for you, Bones. You know it is."

"Then what is your problem?" she frowned and appeared to be sizing you up. After a moment, she smiled.

_Oh God_. It was that devious little smile again.

"I know what your problem is," she murmured, dropping back to that sultry, sexy tone once more. She lowered her eyes to your chest and—goddamn her—she slipped her tongue out from between her lips and moistened them slowly, "You're a prude, Booth. You always get so uptight when I talk about sex. I never thought that you would actually be so uptight during intercourse itself, " she lowered her voice to a whisper, "But it's okay, Booth. You can relax…I'll go first."

You froze as she moved closer to you and—fuck—those hands of hers started inching their way towards your waist. She brushed her fingers against your cocky belt buckle, a mischievous, determined gleam in her eye, and lifted your shirt. You bit your tongue to stifle a loud groan as hot little hands slid against tight abdominal muscles. She made a little noise of approval.

"You know, Agent Booth," she said softly, her fingers pressing into your abdomen before she moved them higher up your chest and rested on your pectorals, not moving except for the gentle caress of her thumbs, "You're not the only one who wants to touch."

Her blue eyes fixed on yours as she slowly, deliberately, brushed her thumbs across your nipples. Once, twice, three times before you couldn't help it anymore. This was the hottest woman you'd ever met and, if she wanted to play with fire, you would make sure she burned.

You groaned out loud as your restraint broke and in a fraction of a second you had her flipped on her back, sprawled out across her own sofa, your body covering hers. You seized those breasts and kneaded them together, hard fingers massaging deep into her soft skin, watching the expression on her face shift from surprise to delight to absolute pleasure as you roughly pinched her nipples through the material of her shirt and bra.

"Temperance Brennan," you growled, grinding your hips into the 'V' between her legs. She let out a cry—a sexy as hell sound that only fueled the raging inferno within you—and hooked her legs around your back, holding you against her. As if you had any strength left to resist her, "I am not a prude. I am _not_ a prude. Do you understand me?"

You lowered your mouth to the hollow of her neck and bit her—hard—for emphasis. Another cry escaped her mouth, louder this time, and you sucked at the offended area, as if to soothe it. She tasted good—_sweet_, like you'd known she would—and she smelled even better. But the best thing was her hands. _Her hands_. They had taken on a mind of their own and were roaming freely over your entire body. They stroked through your hair, over your back, around your chest. They grabbed your ass and pushed your erection closer, harder against the seam of her jeans. When you bit her once more, they squeezed your biceps, tiny little nails digging into your skin.

But she wasn't answering you.

"Temperance!" you moved made your way across her clavicle to those gorgeous breasts of hers, heaving dramatically now in tune with her harsh, ragged breathing. Rough hands pushed them even closer together and you bit one with every intention of leaving an angry mark behind, "Do you understand me?"

She gasped and you looked up in time to see her head loll to the side as her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted.

"If you aren't a prude," she panted, hands back in your hair, holding your head to her breasts in a clear sign that you were supposed to keep going, to keep sucking, "Then why do you act like one all the time? Why do you pretend like you don't feel anything for me, when I know that you do?"

At her last words she suddenly gave a mighty heave, and before you knew it, you were on the floor. You were on your back, and within seconds she was straddling you. Just like before.

You were stunned, but you shouldn't have been. You should have known that touchy-feely foreplay with Bones would be like touchy-feely foreplay with the Karate Kid…except adult. And woman. _Yes,_ you thought as she hastily tore your shirt open—to hell with all the buttons—and proceeded to place hot, frenzied kisses up and down you chest, _Bones was very, very much a woman_.

She ran her tongue over your nipples and her hands—_Jesus, no_—those naughty little hands of hers were moving down, down, down, until…

"Shit, Bones!" you jerked and squeezed your eyes shut tight as she cupped your length in her hands and began to stroke, slowly, through your jeans.

"Mmmm…this feels nice and hard to me, Booth. I confess, touching is not the only thing I'd like to do with this before the night is over…" she smiled and licked her lips. Then the smile was gone just as quickly as it had appeared and her blue eyes darkened, "Is it because you're Catholic?"

On the very last word she leaned over and gave you a bite low on your stomach, right above your jeans. You groaned loudly and your cock twitched in her hands, the pressure now so unbearable that you desperately wanted her to take your jeans off. Or at least unzip them. Anything to give you a little more room.

"No, it's not because I'm Catholic, Bones," you said through gritted teeth.

"Well then why?" she asked, her hands still touching your cock, teasing it slowly, "If it's not because you're a prude and it's not because you're Catholic, then why are you pretending? Because I know you only want to _fuck me_."

It was then that something clicked in your brain and your eyes snapped open. For a moment you just stared at her, at that snotty little smirk on her face, unable to say anything. Then surge of anger rushed through you, and you grabbed her. You yanked her up and flipped her over.

She was on her back again, and you crawled over her in an instant. You hovered over her on all fours, your face inches from hers, which wore a brief expression of complete surprise before it changed over to pure delight—apparently, Miss Independent enjoyed being dominated every now and then. Eyes dark, you ignored the throbbing in your groin and leaned closer, closer, until your lips were almost touching.

"What are you doing, Temperance?" you asked slowly, your voice so quiet, so deadly serious, that she instantly knew that you weren't playing anymore. You were not going to blindly go along with her little game no matter how good it felt. You needed to know what the rules were. You needed to know what she was thinking. Because that last thing she'd said, if she thought that was true, then you had to leave. Now. You had no idea how you were going to do it, but you would. Somehow. You had to.

She looked at you for a long moment, face flushed from your proximity. She appeared to be thinking, sizing you up, considering you, but she was taking too damn long.

"I asked, what are you thinking, Temperance? What's going on in that pretty little mind of yours, huh?" you demanded angrily, tapping a finger against her temple, "Why are you doing this? Why now? Why did you start this? You caught me staring at your unbelievable cleavage a few times too many and figured that this would be a good time to relieve some of those biological urges you get? Has it been awhile for you? Is that all? You just need a fuck buddy and…and you know how infuckingcredibly much I want you so you thought 'why not'? Is that it? You think that I just want to fuck you? After all this time, Temperance? Is that really what you think?"

You watched comprehension dawn on her slowly. You watched that smirk disappear, that mischievous light go out in her eyes. You felt her hands slide a little further down your arms, felt her squirm uncomfortably beneath you.

And you saw her slip. The woman thought she was a master at schooling her expressions, at keeping a neutral face, and maybe if you hadn't known her as well as you did you wouldn't have seen it. But you did. A flash of fear crossed her face for the tiniest fraction of a second. And you saw it. She was afraid.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

"I…I…No," she said finally, "No. That is not what I think, Booth."

Relief flooded your system, and you almost kissed her right then. Your mouths were close enough already, all you'd have to do is move up a hair of an inch. But you didn't.

"Then what _do_ you think, Dr. Brennan?" you asked carefully. You had to know. You _needed_ to know, before you went on with this. Because this woman, this woman that you had on her back, caged between your limbs, she was so much more than just your work partner. She was everything to you. She was your best friend, your heart and soul, your comforter, your mentor, your confidante, your hero. She was one of the two people alive who gave you reason to get up in the morning.

She was the woman you were madly in love with. She was the one, the only. There had been no one else before, and there never would be anyone else after, who had made you feel the way she did.

And you had to know what she was thinking, because no way in hell were you going to ruin what you had. Sex wasn't worth it, and never would be. They could castrate you for all you cared.

She took a long time to answer again, and you could see her eyes searching your face. You could see her brain working, trying to figure out what she really wanted to say. And, God, you hoped it was the right thing.

"I think that…" she began slowly, "I think that I've spent a long time thinking about you, about us. I think that I've wanted you since the day I met you, but you…you're different, Booth. You're not like everyone else. And until recently I wasn't sure…I wasn't sure if you felt the same way about me. And I didn't want to ask because I was afraid you'd say no and it would…that it would ruin what we had. So I kept it all to myself but…but Booth I can't. I can't live like that too much longer. And now I know that…I know that it could never be just about biological urges between us. You mean so much more to me than that. I hope you know that. And I know that you believe in making love and two become one and I know you want a family and I'm…I'm not sure if I'm ready for all that but…" she took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, looking you square in the eye so you knew that she meant every word she said, "I don't know how to define what I want from this—from _us_—but I know that I can promise you…Booth _I promise you_ that if we go through with this I will still be here in the morning. I promise."

You had never loved her more than you did in that moment.

She threaded her fingers through your hair and you cupped her face in your palms. For a moment you stared at each other, and you could see thousands of emotions within her that she didn't have the words to say.

You slowly leaned in, closed the centimeter-wide gap that separated your lips, and pressed your mouth against hers. Lightly. Gently. It was no more than a soft, lingering peck but your eyes drifted shut as you savored every second of it. You couldn't taste her yet, but your lips were touching hers. They were just as warm and soft as you remembered, and they fit perfectly against yours. Just like you remembered.

When you pulled away slightly and looked at her, her eyes were dark and heavy and fixed directly on yours. You placed one more peck on her lips.

"This changes everything," you murmured against their rosy pink lusciousness, stroking her cheeks with the thumbs that still cupped either side of her face. "You know that right?"

"Yes," her voice was barely a whisper.

"We can never go back to what we were before this."

"I know."

"You sure you're ready?"

In response, she curled her upper body upwards and sealed her lips against yours in a kiss that was nothing like the two pecks you'd just shared. Almost immediately, you slipped your tongue inside her hot, moist mouth and began a passionate, frenzied battle with hers. At the same time, you lowered your body completely and fully onto hers. She began rotating her hips, grinding them against your erection, fingers nearly pulling your hair out by the roots. The two of you groaned simultaneously and, unable to stop yourself, you thrust your hips hard into hers. She gasped and broke the kiss, and while she struggled for air, you moved your mouth to other parts of her body.

"Booth!" your name had never sounded better than when it was falling off of Bones's lips in the heat of passion. You kissed, nipped, and suckled your way from her chin down her throat and to the place that had been tormenting you all evening; her cleavage.

"Booth!" she exclaimed, louder this time, writhing underneath you as you placed a particularly hard bite squarely between both breasts. You roughly yanked her tank top down, not even noticing and much less caring that you ripped both straps. You pushed the material into a bunch around her stomach and began palming her nipples through that lacy black bra. She arched her back, trying to force her breasts further into your hands, as sexy deep-throated whimpers poured endlessly from her mouth.

"You like that?" you asked, your voice so heavy with desire that you almost didn't recognize it.

"Ooohhh yessss…" she hissed as her fingers began fumbling with the clasp of her bra. They were shaking too much for her to unhook it, "Take this off, Booth. Please. I need you to touch me."

You were only too happy to cooperate. With a simple flick of one finger, you undid the front clasp. You pushed the garment down over her arms and off her body, but before tossing it aside you checked the label.

"34C, huh?" you asked, triumphant smile spreading across your face. She was the perfect size. Just like you'd guessed.

"Yes," she didn't understand why you were so happy about that, and she didn't care. Impatiently, she pushed your face into her cleavage, "Touch me, Booth. _Touch me_.

You touched the tip of your tongue to her right breast and painted a wet circle around her nipple, feeling her entire body shudder as she exhaled loudly. You moved to the other breast and did the same, contented to go slow for a moment, before you took the entire breast in your mouth and devoured her.

Her entire body stiffened, back arched, hands clenched into fists, teeth pulling on her lip stifle her delighted moans. You licked, sucked, bit, and palmed her breasts until her body finally slackened. Her hands started to move, touching you everywhere. Eventually they began fumbling with your belt buckle.

"Fuck," she grunted when she couldn't get the belt off. You slid your hands over the curves of her waist and, annoyed by the tank top still bunched there, drew away from her just long enough to yank the shirt over her head and take off your belt.

"God, Temperance, you're so soft," you murmured, hands squeezing her waist as you dropped kisses down her stomach. No longer able to reach your zipper, she decided to work on her own instead. She wriggled her hips, pushing her jeans as far down as she could.

"Take them off," she panted when she realized she couldn't get them past mid-thigh.

You tickled her navel with your tongue and gave her belly one last wet lick before obliging. You sat up on your knees and began tugging at those so-fucking-tight jeans until they finally came off. Throwing them aside, you then scooted upwards to sit on her legs, taking in her flushed face, her perky breasts, and the sexy scrap of black lace that she called panties.

"Gorgeous," you watched her chest heave. Her lips were parted and as soon as you drew your gaze to them the tip of her tongue poked out to moisten her bottom lip. In an instant, you were back over her and had that fiesty little tongue securely in your mouth.

She whimpered and laced her fingers at the nape of your neck, holding you to her as she squirmed beneath you. You used one hand to prop yourself up as you slid the other hand down her side, firmly rubbing over her each and every curve. You reached her panties—which fit her just as well, if not better, than her jeans did—and moved around to grab her ass. She squealed and broke the kiss when you pinched her.

"Ouch! That hurt!" she slapped your arm.

"Really? I liked it. You've got a nice ass. Have I ever told you that?" It was more than nice, actually. It was fucking incredible, the best ass you'd ever had the privilege of seeing clad in only underwear. Not too big, but nice and round and perfectly proportioned, enough for you to grab a pretty decent-sized handful if you wanted.

"No," she sounded breathless as you rubbed the spot you'd just pinched to soothe it. She glared at you, "You've spent the past four years just staring and not acting."

"Yeah? Well consider this action," you pinched her again. She yelped and tried to pull away from you, but before she could get away you suddenly scooped her up into your arms—provoking another yelp—and stood up, hugging her tightly against your chest.

"Where are you taking me?" delicate fingernails stroked your chest as she looked at you seductively.

"Your bedroom," no way in hell were you going to let your first time with Bones be a quickie on the floor of her living room. This was _Bones_, for Christ's sake. This was the woman you'd spent the past four years dreaming about. She was the most incredible person you'd ever met. You _loved _her, and even if she wasn't ready to know that, you were still going to do things properly the first time.

You quickly brought her to the bedroom, trying not to bang her into a wall even as she sprinkled more of her hot little kisses up and down your neck. You laid her down on the bed and let go long enough to yank your jeans down and step out of them. She smiled and climbed to her knees on the bed. You did the same, inching closer to her until you could pull her flush against your body, hands at her waist. Her hands came to rest on your biceps and for a moment you just looked at her.

The fantasies you'd had about her were the hottest fantasies you'd ever had in your life, hands down. Theoretically, it should have been impossible for her to be hotter in real life than she was in your dreams, but here she was…naked except for a little piece of lace, eyes hooded with desire, lips thoroughly kissed and swollen, nipples harder than diamonds, every single curve pulled tight against your body. The hottest little thing you'd ever seen. After a moment she smiled and leaned close to your ear.

"You're staring again," she murmured, hands squeezing your biceps a little tighter, "Do I need to go first?"

She slid one hand down your chest, applying pressure to muscle she passed over, before she grasped your cock firmly through your boxers.

Her grip was so tight—so _fucking_ tight—that you couldn't help but to groan out loud and thrust forward into her hands. That mischievous smile worked its way back onto her lips as she stroked you carefully and you twitched uncontrollably under her ministrations.

"You like it when I touch you like that, Booth? Hmm?" her voice was now a breathy whisper. She pulled your boxers down and then promptly returned her hand to your shaft.

"Shit…" her hands felt marvelous against your naked flesh. You jerked again as a single finger traced its way along a bulging vein to your head, and she began to rub the tip of you with just that one finger, massaging drops of precum into your skin. That in itself was heaven. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the feel of her delicate little hands doing things you'd never dreamed they would.

Then she sped up the pace. Out of nowhere. She grabbed the base of you firmly and held you steady with one hand. The other stroked you hard and fast, creating an unbelievable hot friction that had you grunting and jerking into her repeatedly. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. You weren't sure if you were saying the words out loud or just thinking them, and you were too far gone to care. You gripped her shoulders, a particularly loud groan ripping from your throat when she started kneading your balls with that base hand, not breaking her rhythm. _Inmotherfuckingcredible. _Your balls tightened steadily and you felt a familiar build up in your center. You knew what was coming and, _shit,_ you didn't want it yet.

You grabbed Bones's wrists and yanked them both away before she could make you come.

"Booth!" she exclaimed, eyes glaring, highly upset by your rude interruption, "I didn't even get to taste you yet!"

_Oh God_, the just the thought of her tasting you almost sent you over the edge.

"Save it for later, okay Bones? Unless you want this show to end early," you pushed her back onto the bed and were over her in an instant, kissing wildly as you ground your massive, pulsing erection into her still-covered-by-panties crotch. She locked her legs securely around your hips, just like you'd thought about her doing so many times today what with those jeans she'd been wearing, and ground back just as hard. Her panties were drenched, soaked clear through, and you could feel her hot juices on your cock. Yeah, she felt fucking _good_. You hitched her legs up tighter around your waist and bucked into her, thrusting extra hard against her center, eliciting groans from you both.

"Oh, fuck. Booth, please!" she begged when you broke your kiss and dragged a hot, wet trail up and down the column of her neck, over her jawline, below her ears. You continued these little kisses as you pushed her panties down with one hand—the other hand roughly squeezing her breast—and shoved your hand in between her legs.

She shrieked and convulsed when you touched her wet—totally, completely, _dripping_ wet—center. You tweaked her nipple roughly and bit her neck repeatedly as you lazily trailed your fingers in her dew for a minute, unable to get over just how thoroughly soaked she was. She writhed underneath you, mewling sounds pouring from her mouth steadily now, hands clenching the bedsheets mercilessly. You found her entrance, teased it for a few seconds—_OhBoothPleaseHurry_—before you slipped one, two fingers inside her.

A loud cry tore from her lips, and you couldn't help but groan yourself when you felt how tight she was. Fuck. She squeezed your fingers harder than you thought possible. You stopped kneading her breasts and propped yourself on your other hand so you could watch as you slowly eased your fingers back out of her. They glistened.

You glanced from your fingers back up to her face. Eyes closed, features contorted, mouth open and drawing in heavy, ragged breaths. You grinned and leaned in towards her ear.

"Guess I'm not the only one who likes to be touched," you whispered huskily. She gasped, startled by your voice's close proximity and the tongue that swiped her ear. She shrieked again when, on that last word, _touched_, you plunged your fingers back into her depths.

You placed one last kiss on her ear before pushing yourself back up so you could watch again as you pulled your fingers out and immediately pushed them back in this time. You rapidly thrust your fingers in and out of her, enjoying the way her entire body shook as she arched her back to meet you. You pumped harder, faster, almost roughly. She panted and moaned and groaned and whined—the most incredible fucking sexiest sounds you had ever heard in your life. You curled your fingers up inside her and stroked her clit with your thumb, and suddenly she came—screaming, flooding around your fingers, hands turning the sheets into a ball, heels digging into your back, body curling and contorting into the hottest, sweatiest, sexiest thing you'd ever seen.

"Fuck, Temperance," you couldn't wait any longer. You tore the panties from around her legs and surged upwards, fully sheathing yourself in her trembling body in one fluid motion. And when you were in up to the hilt she—unfuckingbelievable—she came again, screamed again, body thrashing underneath you, walls convulsing around you, taking your cock in deeper as her fingernails pierced the skin of your biceps. You groaned and held still, watching the waves crash over her while you got over the initial shock of being inside her hot, tight, wet little body.

"Seeley!" she moaned when she could finally use her voice again.

"That was amazing," you murmured, nibbling on her ear sliding your lips over to her mouth. She eagerly opened up to you and the two of you shared a brief but passionate kiss. She whimpered when you broke the kiss and began to move. You pulled out of her—all the way out so your tip barely touched her—and sank back in easily, the friction causing you both to groan out loud.

"You feel so good, Temperance…So fucking good…"

She looked up at you through those desire-heavy eyes for one, two, three seconds as she arched against you, taking you in even further until you truly could go in no more.

"Oh _fuck_," her words were low and slightly slurred. You pulled out of her and, this time, you slammed back in. Hard. She shrieked and you grunted, and then you did it again. And again. And again, until you had established a fast, furious pace that had you both shouting and screaming and thrusting and pounding and _fuck, she felt so good._ Her hands raked jagged lines up and down your back and you began kneading her breasts—_her goddamn motherfucking perfect sexy breasts that had started this whole thing in the first place. _

"Come again, Temperance," you grunted, flicking your thumbs across her pointy little nipples.

"Oh God, Seeley…Oh God, please…Oh please…I can't…" she was screaming now, head thrown back, unable to control the words that flowed from her mouth. Tears streamed from her eyes, and you kissed them away as you pummeled her the way you'd always wanted to.

"Open your eyes! _Look at me, Temperance!" _you wanted to watch her eyes as you made her come one last time, despite her insistences that she couldn't. She obeyed and you stared into those hazy-fuck-me-fuck-me eyes as you plunged into her, stayed there, and began to grind as hard as you could against her.

"Come on, baby," you rasped, knowing you weren't going to be able to hold out much longer if she didn't come, and soon, "Come for me one more time. Third time's the charm."

"No…No…" you slid one hand down to where the two of you were joined and rubbed her clit, feeling her whole body stiffen as her cries transformed into, "Oh yes…yes_, please_…"

You rubbed her once, a little harder, and she screamed "_Seeley!" _before she came apart completely and totally in your arms, an orgasm the likes of which she had never experienced before ripping through her body, turning every muscle into a pulsing mass of jelly. You buried your face in her sweet hair and shouted her name as you came right along with her, orgasm breaking you into a million tiny pieces with a million tiny colors as you emptied your seed into her convulsing womb. You collapsed onto her and she tightened her limbs around you as if she were trying to bring you even closer. Sticky-sweet sweat sealed your bodies together and the two of you just lay there, quivering and panting and, in her case, whimpering in each other's arms.

A small groan escaped her lips when you finally gathered the strength to roll off of her.

"Oh my God, Booth."

You smirked at her expression.

"I have never orgasmed so many times so fast in my life. And I have definitely never orgasmed that hard."

"Same here…I've never come like that, I mean."

"That was…"

"…Amazing."

You both smiled, gazes lingering on each other for a moment. Then she groaned.

"I don't think I can move."

"Then don't," you used your last remaining strength to pull her into your arms, her face nestling securely against your chest, and pulled a sheet over the both of you. She blew out an exhausted breath of air and pressed a kiss against your sternum before her eyes fluttered shut. You pressed a similar kiss into her hair and held her close, the smell of her shampoo and sex mingling in the air. Her breathing evened out, and you thought she was almost asleep, but then she spoke.

"Booth?"

"Mmm?" you were feeling a little drowsy yourself. Drowsy and satisfied. Yes. So satisfied.

"I _knew_ you wanted to touch me."

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_El fin!_

_Again, my first attempt at writing a sex scene. I'd love to know why you loved/hated it so I can get better!_


	6. Audition

_So sorry about the delay, but the fifth and final sense is finally here…audition! Thank you all for waiting so patiently. I promise not to be so damn slow in the future._

_Funny story about this one. I started it with the intention of it becoming another random oneshot, but somehow it became Audition. So it's a little different from the other four senses in that it's not in second person. Oops. I also started writing something else that I had originally meant to become Audition but it turns out that I would like to make that into another short story. It's about half-finished but I will probably name it Tattoo, so look out for that one in the future, okay?_

_That said, this is an M. M as in Mucho Smuto. _

_**************************************************************************************_

"Oh…my…God! _Seeley_!" Temperance Brennan shrieked loudly—a little too loudly, she knew, but it seemed she was not in complete control of her actions at the moment—and threw her head back, not caring, maybe not even noticing, that it hit the wall behind her with a rather loud _crack_. Her itching, trembling fingers worked their way through Seeley Booth's hair and pulled him closer, closer, _closer_, as close as she could possibly get him.

He inched his way slowly out of her tight, wet heat until only the tip of his erect manhood remained immersed in her juices. His hands worked to shove the navy blue skirt she wore higher around her hips so he could widen her thighs. He grinned and let one hand slide between them, taking her hard little love button between his fingers. He squeezed it a little. She gasped and let out a long, throaty moaning sound.

"Now, Booth! Go! _Please_," she whined. Her whole body was shaking, legs quivering and twitching so bad she could hardly keep them locked around his waist. Her back arched off the wall and he could feel her inner muscles working, trying to pull him back into her warm, moist depths. _God_, how he wanted to let her, but he held out for just a moment longer, intentionally tormenting her.

"Booth!" she all but screamed in frustration a moment later, opening her eyes when she realized he wasn't moving. That teasing grin on his lips made her want to seize control, to take him and shove him down into a chair and fuck the shit out of him, fuck him until he groaned and shuddered beneath her, fuck him until she could feel his seed pouring into her in quick, hot bursts and her own juices coated his hard dick. Maybe then she would finally be satisfied.

But she couldn't. She was completely at his mercy. He had her too worked up, too _absolutelyoutofhermind _horny for her to be capable of taking control of the situation. So she resorted to begging.

"Oh please Booth," she whimpered, wiggling her hips. She looked at him through heavy, lust-colored eyes and swiped her tongue over her bottom lip. His cock jumped so forcefully that he almost gave in, but he resisted, "Please don't do this to me now…"

His grin turned into a smirk and he darted a hand under her blouse so he could play with her tender nipples. She sighed and arched into that hand, wishing he would rub just a little harder.

"Don't do what to you, Temperance?" he asked, sounding as innocent as possible.

"Please don't tease me…_Please_. Just fuck me."

No sooner had those words left her mouth than he thrust upwards, completely burying himself inside her. She shrieked again, but he had anticipated that and, this time, he leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against hers, effectively swallowing the sound while groaning into her throat himself. She let go of his hair and her hands spasmed, fingers opening and closing rapidly until she brought them to rest on his shoulders. She was shaking so hard, her whole body quivering as she clung to him for dear life.

"How's that for fucking you?" Booth grunted when he finally released her lips. He placed light kisses down her neck, working around that big clunky necklace she wore until he reached her collarbone. There he nipped her, molding and tonguing her soft flesh until he was sure he would leave a mark. Good. Now everyone would know that she was his. _His_. Forever.

"Harder, Booth," she rasped in response to his question, grinding her hips into his cock. He groaned, "And faster. Stop biting me and _fuck me_ Booth."

He wanted to wait, to tease her a little more—he loved getting her all riled up and angry for him—but the truth was, they both needed to get back to work. They'd been down here nearly ten minutes already. This was supposed to be a quick fuck against the wall, not marathon lovemaking. He could do that to her later, in her own bed, when they had all the time in the world.

So he complied with her demands. He picked up the pace, withdrawing and slamming his cock back into her as hard as he could, faster and faster until he established a rhythm that had them both wailing and moaning, her head banging repeatedly into the hand he had placed between it and the wall. With his other hand he tweaked her nipples, enjoying their soft, round fullness.

"Oh, _yes_, Seeley!" she panted, her breathing harsh and ragged in his ear as he leaned down, resting his forehead on the wall over her shoulder as he pounded into her relentlessly, "Yes! Just like that! Come on, Seeley! Oh fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me_!"

"You like that baby?" he growled, "Huh? You like it when I fuck you like this?"

His hands traveled down to her waist, angling her hips so he could thrust deeper, _deeper_, as deep as he could ever get, and she screamed. Loudly. Booth hastily clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the noise.

"Christ, Temperance. You can't scream like that! Someone'll hear us!" he exclaimed, slowing down for just a moment. But she was having none of that. She bit his hand and, sliding her own hands down to Booth's ass, she forced him back into her. Hard.

"Ooohh yes," she mewled, "Yeah Booth, I like that. Now keep going. Make me cum. _Please, _Booth."

"Shit," who was he to disobey that dirty little mouth of hers? He resumed his pace from earlier, going even faster if that was possible. The sound of his slick body slapping against hers reverberated throughout the empty room and he could feel the pressure building up in his balls. She writhed beneath him, her walls clenching him and pulling him in and squeezing him like no other. He knew it wouldn't be long now. Not for either one of them.

"Ahhh yesssssss…" she hissed, "More, Booth! More!"

"Jesus, woman," he panted, "You can't fucking get enough, can you?"

"I need…I need…" he looked up at her and saw her glazed-over eyes. She was so close. Just one good push and she'd be right over the edge. And he knew just how to do it.

He shoved one hand over her mouth again right before he slid the other between her thighs and sank two long fingers inside her while simultaneously giving one last, extra hard thrust upwards with his hips. She screamed and, as predicted, came apart in his arms. So did he. He bit her shoulder to stop himself from getting too loud as they rode out their orgasm together, bodies jerking, quivering, and spasming as one. He couldn't make out most of her words with the hand covering her mouth, but he did hear _'fuckmefuckmefuckme' _over and over again. Someday he was going to punish that naughty mouth of hers.

Eventually her entire body went limp and she quieted down enough for him to remove his hand, although she was still murmuring something unintelligible. He lifted his head to look at her and saw her eyes shining almost dazedly. He cupped her face with his hands, stroking her cheeks with both thumbs, and she smiled weakly before he kissed her. Slowly, languidly—in complete contrast to their crazed, frenzied lovemaking.

"Oh God," she whispered when the kiss finally broke, "That was…You…We…I can't believe we just did that. Look at us, Booth."

He smiled and let his eyes travel down the length of her body, still pinned up against the wall by his own. Hair a mess, face flushed, blazer thrown to the floor, top few buttons of her blouse yanked open, hickey forming just above her collar bone, skirt hiked up around her hips, panties stolen and shoved into his pocket, shoes and stockings flung into a far corner… she looked like a woman who'd just been thoroughly fucked, and it was pretty damn hot, actually.

"You may need to stop by the bathroom before returning to work," he advised her with a smirk.

"Yeah, well you don't look much better," she returned. His tie hung loose around his neck, his hair stood on end from her fingers tugging at it, his suit was in disarray, his belt had joined her blazer, and his pants were down around his thighs. "Do you think anyone will know where we went?"

"I don't think so. How could they know?"

"I…I don't know. We were a little loud."

He smirked.

"You, sweetheart. _You_ were a little loud. You wanted it bad," he teased, "And after we both promised not to have sex in the workplace. Tsk tsk tsk."

"Booth!" she slapped his arm, "While I admit that I may have been a bit…vocal, _you_ are the one who started this in the first place."

"What? I did not."

"Honestly, Booth. Did you really think you could come into my office and kiss me and…and…feel me up like that without arousing me?"

"No, but I didn't think you would act on it."

"It's twelve o'clock in the afternoon! Am I supposed to wait until tonight?"

"That would be what normal people do, yes."

"Well since I could never be productive in such an aroused state it's only logical that I act _now_. I would never get any work done otherwise."

"Bones, for four years I worked with a constant hard-on whenever you were around and I was productive enough."

She glared at him. After a moment he smiled and kissed her gently again.

"Alright, Bones. I promise not to kiss you in your office anymore. As long as you promise not to wear that skirt anymore."

"What? I like this skirt!"

"Yeah, well so do I. That's the problem."

"Why don't you just learn to control yourself?"

He chuckled.

"Alright. Enough of this Bones," he removed her legs from around his hips and set her down gently, inwardly pleased to see her knees buckle a little before she found her balance. He tugged her skirt down for her and tried to neaten a few strands of hair, "People are going to wonder where we are."

"But there's no way they could know, right?" she asked, eyes flashing worriedly, "I'm a professional, Booth. I can't get caught having sex in the workplace."

"Nah, Bones. You weren't that loud. And nobody ever comes down here, anyway. You don't have to worry about your little professionalism."

"Good. And just to clarify, we are _never_ doing this again."

****************************************************************************

Brennan had barely been alone in her office five minutes before Angela slipped in and closed the door behind her, a canary-eating grin on her face. She dropped into the chair in front of Brennan's desk and just sat there for a moment, grinning.

Finally, Brennan tore her eyes away from the document on her computer.

"What are you so happy about?"

"Look who's talking. You look pretty happy yourself. And I just saw Special Agent Sexy Booth walk out of here a minute ago."

"Yes, he came to bring me lunch."

"Is that what you call it? It sounded more like dessert to me."

Confusion flashed in Brennan's eyes. Of course.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well there were some very interesting sounds coming from the storage closet in the basement about…ohh…twenty minutes ago."

Brennan's eyes widened.

"Oh…my…God…" she clapped a hand over her mouth as a slow flush spread over her cheeks. Angela's grin expanded exponentially, "You could hear that?"

"Sweetie, you'd have to be deaf in both ears not to. Sounds like you had fun."

"I did—I mean…We never…I just…"

"Needed a little woohoo to keep you going during the workday, I know," Angela finished.

"But we never—"

"It's okay, Bren. Happens to me all the time."

"Yeah, but I'm quite sure the whole building never _hears_ you. Who else heard?"

"Hodgins."

"Oh God. And who else?"

"That's it, sweetie. How many men do you think I bring down to the storage closet at one time?" Angela asked, feigning offense, "We only heard you because we were down there looking to use the room ourselves. And I have to say, I'm not nearly as happy as you are right now. How about we work out a schedule or something? That way we can _all_ be happy and Hodgins doesn't have to get all freaked out by the sound of Booth having sex."

"_No_, Ange. That was a one-time thing. Booth and I have already agreed to never do that again."

"Sure, sweetie," Angela said disbelievingly, as Brennan turned back to her computer, "Hodgie and I said the same thing the first time we had sex in the storage room. And we said it again after we got caught on camera, but look at us now…You did remember to block the security camera in there, didn't you?"

Immediately, Brennan whipped back around to face Angela again, a look of pure horror on her face.

"The _what?!_"


End file.
